


Booking It

by Crosses_and_Qoutes



Series: SuperBat drabbles [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: AU, Book Shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crosses_and_Qoutes/pseuds/Crosses_and_Qoutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark Kent never expected a famous billionaire to come waltzing through his 24 hour book store. He also never expected to fall in love with him. But he may not be the only one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Booking It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzJazz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzJazz/gifts).



> Happy belated Birthday JazzJazz!!

Booking it was a work of love, sweat, tears and more blood than he had thought imaginable, but Clark had finally opened his twenty four book store with a pride he hadn’t felt since finishing his first harvest on the farm. It wasn’t the best building on the block, a bit cramped, but he was used to making do with small space. He made use of it though, keeping the atmosphere warm and homey with oversized beanbags and worn burgundy arm chairs that he continually patched up, along with a well stocked coffee table that he kept going for the late nighters that enjoyed the peace and quiet of his little book store. The soft tan walls and saturated carpets that laid in a mix-match over the wooden floors contrasted sharply with the modern and dark Gotham vibe, but he wasn’t about to go changing it.

Business was more than decent. What Booking it lacked in space, it made up for in location. A few blocks away from Gotham University, and even closer to several apartment complexes, there were plenty of adults and teenagers barging through the doors demanding sequels and textbooks alike. If he provided the coffee a bit strong on finals week or handed out a few blankets, well, he knew all too well what that particular level of exhaustion felt like.

Needless to say, he had a certain clientele that he expected to come through. Those clients didn’t come strolling in expensive long coats and silk ties at the wee hours of morning, looking ready for a camera shoot.

“I assume you work here?” The stranger asked, gesturing to the black apron. His jet black hair seemed effortlessly tossed back in a manner that made Clark’s messy mane seem shaggy.

He coughed, wiping his hands on the red handkerchief tied on his belt loop. “Clark Kent, owner of Booking It. How can I help you?”

“Bruce Wayne and I hope so. Alfred Pennyworth called ahead this afternoon to have a book reserved for me, ‘The Creed’ by Altair Ibn-la’Ahad.”

“Ah yes.” Clark sighed, “However, he also told you that I can’t sell that book to you in its current condition.”

He raised a thick eyebrow, gesturing him to continue.

“You see,” Clark begin, walking behind the counter and gently unwrapping the book. “From what I understand, your son is one of the Child Soldiers that came over from the Israel region, right? Well, I have a few boys over here that read this same book, and it helps them a lot. This is the only copy I have. I can’t send it off yet before ensuring that I have another copy here for them. I can have the copies done in a week, and I’ll even rebind this one here for free, no charge. But I can’t sell it to you right now.”

He expected anger, maybe even  a few curses. Gotham men had given him more than that. But Mr. Wayne only smiled, a warmness that wasn’t there before.

“Of course.” He wrote down the information needed for the bookbinding, along with his contact number. “Let me know when it’s finished.”

There was something unsaid, hanging in the air between his mouth and his throat, but the smaller man didn’t say it, walking out of the door and leaving him confused and a bit breathless.

* * *

 

He came around the next day, the jacket donned off in the sweltering humidity in exchange for a well-fitted vest and button up, the tie in some sort of complicated knot that Clark couldn’t even imagine doing. He tugged on his red plaid shirt a bit self-consciously, allowing a nervous chuckle to escape.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m fast but not even I’m that fast!”

“Maybe I just came by to see you.” He smiled, and oh hell that wasn’t fair. “But truly, I wanted to see your book store in the daylight. It seemed very subdued last night with everyone asleep.”

“Ah well, I let a few folks sleep here during the colder nights or you know, if they fall asleep during studying or something. Just decent, you know?” He knew that allowing the homeless to sleep on his property wasn’t the smartest thing, business borrow might receive a complaint and write him up, but nobody seemed to be complaining or anything.

“And here I thought that chivalry was dead. I recognized some of your workers last night. You allow the homeless to stay and work here?”

Shit. He knew that it was technically illegal, but they didn’t have anywhere else and they were honest working folks. Just needed a helping hand up.

“They aren’t homeless now.” He corrected. “Most of my workers live in the apartments above the shop and then my own is above that. It’s not much, but it’s more than they had.”

“Well, at least Gotham hasn’t beaten the good out of you.”

He nodded, looking around the place in approval. The store was certainly warm and opening, nothing like Wayne Manor with it’s dark shades and black formal suits. Damien adjusted well enough, but the cold and standoffish behavior wasn’t doing him any favor in school. Of course, being raised by an assassination guild certainly hadn’t helped with his social skills. Damien could kill, infiltrate, and adapt to practically any situation, spoke over seven languages and had the advantage of assumed innocence because of his age. At only ten, he was incredibly gifted. But when it came to connecting to others, respecting those of a lower skill, he was severely lacking.

He was hoping this particular book would be an ice-breaker for them to open up about his experiences, even just talk about his time in the guild. But perhaps just bringing him here would be helpful as well, with it’s warm colors and bright smiling owners.

Clark came back around the counter with two cups of coffee.

“Actually, while you are here I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your foster son. Damien, right? I hope you don’t mind but I looked you up. I was trying to pin-point where I remembered your name. If you don’t mind my saying, I admire your commitment to all of your kids. I know Gotham isn’t the brightest place, but it looks like it hasn’t beaten the good out of either of us.”

Bruce was a bit speechless. “You know, that’s not what most people say first.”

“Everybody has a tragic past. You could’ve become bitter about it, but you didn’t. You took other kids so that they wouldn’t go through what you did. That means more to me than anything else.”

Perhaps he had said too much. Bruce turned his face away, clearing his throat while cold hands ran through his hair.

“I,” he coughed, “Thank you. Damien is, well, he’s not my toughest child that I’ve ever had. Jason was close when it came to ferocity but his level of knowledge when it comes to cruelty is surpassing anything I’ve ever dealt with. It’s understandable, given his background. I’m going to make it easier of him though without losing his homelands culture. I’ll make sure of that. I apologize, I’ve said far too much.”

“Your alright!” Clark said, waving the man back down to sit in his chair. “Who am I going to tell, really?”

He came nearly every day after that where Clark would be waiting with a cup of coffee. The hours were erratic at times. Bruce would sometimes show up in the early hours of the morning and sometimes at the darkest points of the night, but he always made it a point to show. Clark may have delayed the binding of the ancient text by a few weeks, but he liked Bruce. Maybe liked him more than he cared to admit. A few more days with a man was all that he would ask before he disappeared in his life for good.

But eventually all good things came to an end and he couldn’t hold it off anymore. The day after he called Bruce came in at the wee hours of sunset spilling over the horizon, he’s tie a bit looser than usual. It almost seemed as if it had been yanked in a fit of nerves.

He was silent, standing in the door like a wraith.

“Bruce,” He smiled, handing over the newly bound text. It’s strong leather was polished and the gold leaf title shimmered in the dull light. The small bat symbol had taken some time, but he had eventually gotten it right. “Everything’s copied and finished. Best work that I’ve done yet.”

Bruce said nothing, sliding over in two long strides.

“Bruce, what-“

It was so sudden he wasn’t sure it was real. So soft, just a small taste and he pulled away, grasping at Clark’s suspenders like a lifeline.

“I know that this is a bit sudden, but I would like to take you to dinner sometime.”

Clark’s hands seemed to know better than his mouth, slotting themselves on either side of that insufferably stern jaw and pulling the man back in. Bruce understands, of course he does, moving them back until Clark’s back hits the shelves, hands sliding through the open button up and straight under the thin tank top.

“Shit!” he hisses, clutching at a vest that probably costs more than the entire store.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

He can’t help himself, he really can’t. The giggle bubbling in his throat turns into a full blown laugh, burying his face into his shoulder.

“Or, if you remember correctly, I have an apartment upstairs. You like cooking?”

It’s possibly the brightest smile he has seen on him yet. Can you ask billionaires if they like to cook?

“It sounds wonderful.”


End file.
